


The Note

by notapepper



Series: Near Miss (Canon Based) [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Begins during 1x07, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Scene Expansion, Simmons POV, Spoilers for 1x07, spoilers for 1x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapepper/pseuds/notapepper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons confesses her love for Fitz in a moment of recklessness.  Starts during 1x07 - The Hub; spoilers through 1x09 - Repairs.  (First fic. Please comment if you can; I am not a writer or a scientist, and I rely on your feedback!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Note

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Simmons bit her lip. Had she been clear enough? Given how oblivious Fitz could be when it came to matters of the heart, she wouldn't put it past him to mistake her. Drumming her fingers along the lab counter, she quickly recounted the contents of the note - painstakingly written and re-written on paper squares until the words spaced out prettily and didn't bunch up at the end:

"Fitz - Please don't die. I love you. - Jemma"

She'd thought that, brief as it was, the message was obvious, but just in case Fitz decided she meant it "as a friend", she'd drawn a heart around the whole thing. Which, honestly, was a much girlier flourish than Simmons was given to, and really, it seemed like something Skye would've done. Simmons was a government agent, after all, who prided herself on being professional. She'd spent far too long being judged for her age, her appearance, her gender... sigh. She couldn't afford to be drawing hearts around boys' names.

But she'd needed to tell him how she felt. Simmons was terrible at this sort of thing, that much was a given. The _right_ time had been in his bunk, after the Chitauri virus. Fitz was rambling as usual, his words tangling as they fought to escape his teeth, and she'd desperately wanted to close his mouth with her lips, to make him understand what he meant to her, to thank him for saving her life. But the door was open and he wouldn't look at her and they were such good friends and he might not feel the same and it was against protocol anyway and and and… Simmons lost her nerve.

Then, when she learned they were to be separated, that her best friend was being sent into the field unprepared, she let her mind wander into dangerous scenes where he didn't come home, or came home broken. And she knew that she had to say _something_ because Fitz was more important than any job, more important than following rules, even. So she drew a big, goofy heart around her words, feeling like a 9-year-old who spells her name with an "i" instead of a "y" so she can dot it with a daisy, and wrapped the napkin around his sandwich where he couldn't possibly miss it when he went to take a bite.

And even though some internal Jemma screamed with insecurity at _what_ she'd told him and _how_ she'd said it, another one sat quietly relieved, humming under her breath, fingers flying as they knitted Fitz a scarf to match his eyes. And it was with that peaceful Jemma that Simmons identified at the moment, taking a deep breath and letting it sail out of her mouth. Because after all this time and all the near misses, she'd somehow -insanely- FINALLY declared her love. And now it was up to Fitz.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explores the end scene from 1x07. Has Fitz read Simmons' note? What will his reaction be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Fitz and Ward were back from Ossetia. Simmons emerged from the lab just as the two were thanking Coulson for their second chance at life. As soon as he noticed her, Fitz dropped his backpack and came over. She thought she detected a hint of shyness in his step, but it could just as easily have been her own anxiety making assumptions for her.

 _Moment of truth_ , thought Simmons. She planted her feet and readied herself - but for what, she wasn't sure.

"Well done, Fitz." Simmons kept her voice professional just in case. She stood before him, a heavy metal trunk between them on the cargo bay floor. "So glad to see you're all right."

"Yup," swallowed Fitz, looking intensely uncomfortable, his eyes shifting like a dog turning around in its bed. "Good to see you too."

 _Well, that settles it_ , she thought, noting how their easygoing dynamic was off.  _He's definitely seen the note._  He'd read her confession of love, and now he was being cagey.  _Oh, god._  This was all highly awkward.

 _Nothing to be done about it now but barrel ahead and greet the elephant full-on_ , she supposed. Time to push the issue.

"Oh!" Her head tipped up as she inhaled, smiling with carefully crafted nonchalance, "The sandwich - how was it?" Her eyes searched Fitz's carefully as she waited for his reaction.

A flash of something - nervousness? guilt? - washed over his face in the beat before he answered, and he took a steadying breath.

 _Oh, dear, something's clearly wrong. Damn._  "Too much aioli?" she offered hesitantly.  _Or too much for me to ask of you?_

But a second later, Fitz's eyes steadied, blue marbles boring into her gaze with unwavering resolve. "It was delicious," he nodded.

_He's nodding. Nodding? So it's a yes. He says yes!_

Then Simmons' smile bloomed like a crocus pushing through the snow, and she nodded back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I felt a little bad ending the first part before they were able to reunite, and I loved the shy awkwardness of Fitzsimmons in this scene from 1x07. If you liked this, please let me know! I'm planning to expand this a little more, but I'll probably keep it within canon, and try to flesh out what each one is thinking based on what we've been given on the show. I have a few ideas for off-camera scenes as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzsimmons bickering in the lab. It had to happen sometime, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Simmons huffed, blowing an auburn curl out of her face before bending to look once again into the microscope.  Fitz was in the corner, mulling a gadget over in his hands, occasionally tapping at his tablet and checking his watch.

“Simmons, how are you coming along on --” Fitz’s voice broke through her frustration like a magnifying glass.

“I’ll be done sooner if you stop rushing me,” she cautioned in an exasperated singsong, which _she_ considered a very reasonable tone, given that he was micromanaging her for possibly the hundredth time.  And in the lab, of all places, really.   _How can I be in love with someone so annoying?_ she wondered, not the first time that day.

“OK, but we’re expected upstairs in...”

“Half an hour, I know, you don’t have to keep reminding me…” her eyes rolled up to punctuate just how thoroughly she’d had it with him and his “subtle” encouragement.

From the way he carried on talking, Fitz had clearly missed the thunderstorm brewing in Simmons’ head.  “Well we both know how Coulson feels about tardiness.  And,”  he pointed out smugly, hands at his hips and his face settling into that insufferably _superior_ expression she’d come to memorize,  “It just so happens that _I’ve_ finished my device ahead of schedule.  Not that it was easy, mind you.  Now, if you’ll just tell me where you seem to be falling short, I can--”

“What I need, Fitz, is a little peace and quiet,”  she snapped a bit more sharply than intended.  Regret immediately set in when his blue eyes furrowed into gray and his mouth dropped open.  “Sorry,” she began gently, but Fitz was already wearing his I-know-you-did-not-just face.

“Oh!  Oh? If _that’s_ how you feel about it,” his hands gesticulated like two angry seagulls fighting over a chip, “then perhaps I’ll just go get something to eat rather than _burden_ you with my skills and expertise.” A pout punctuated the retort, but was forgotten seconds later as he grabbed his tech and turned to the doors.  “Hey, I really do have to be up there soon to help them set up.  See you in a few?”

“Hmm.”

“And Simmons?” he smirked in affected condescension, “Don’t let my incredible powers of organization intimidate you.  You’ll sort it out.  You’re _very_ smart.  Not as smart as _me_ , of course--.”

Her eyes narrowed as her head tipped in a tread-lightly expression, and he responded with a mocking smile.

“Just don’t be late!”

Simmons sighed, watching Fitz disappear up the narrow spiral staircase.  She had a stab of remorse -- _He probably_ could _have helped, you ninny!_ \-- but she silenced it and focused on the work in front of her.

In truth, Fitz _was_ a distraction for more reasons than one, and roughly twenty minutes later she grinned victoriously as she observed the microscopic entities under the glass doing exactly what she’d wanted them to.  It felt good to know that at least, in this arena, in this world of beakers and burners and predictable, drivable chemical reactions, she was in control.  She could make things happen.

She thought she _was_ making something happen when she’d written down her feelings for Fitz and left the note for him to find.  They’d never really talked about their love lives, despite being best friends and partners, so she hadn’t quite been able to bring it up face to face.  But she _had_ taken the first step by spelling out her heart on his napkin, and in doing so, had put the ball in Fitz’s court.  It’d felt like the right choice at the time.

But now over a month had passed since he’d returned from Russia.  Was it any wonder that she was losing patience? For _weeks_ now she’d been stuck in limbo -- too timid to initiate the conversation (it was _unquestionably_ Fitz’s turn) and too confused to close the door and move on.  Now, instead of being proud of her courage in declaring herself, Simmons sometimes wished she’d left well enough alone.

She remembered how promising everything had been, just after he’d gotten back.  Fitz had preened on the retelling of his adventures -- _I had Ward’s back the whole time_ \-- and regaled her with stories she suspected were more than a little exaggerated -- _Pretty much saved him from a gang of Russian mobsters, and kicked a few guys’ heads in_.  He’d puffed himself up so adorably, all for her benefit, and she’d gone to bed giddy, love fluttering her eyelashes to sleep.

And then, over the next couple of missions, they’d somehow gotten back to the pre-virus, pre-awkwardness Fitzsimmons that she’d worried had drowned in a river of drama. Fitz had been a quietly supportive stronghold for her stress to reside in until she was able to phone her parents about her failed attempt at martyrdom  They’d pranked Skye (hilariously, she might add) and gotten locked in a closet with a maniacal, dimension-jumping ghost -- not the most romantic setting, perhaps, but she’d take it if it meant huddling close in the dark with Fitz.  They’d jumped easily back into old routines: Fitz making the morning coffee, Simmons the afternoon tea, and a tandem effort in the kitchen for dinner.

Simmons had been confident that at any moment he’d admit to harboring a crush.  Why wouldn’t he?  She knew he was self-conscious about his meager dating experience -- they both were -- but could he really be so afraid of looking foolish that he’d pretend the note never happened?  Honestly, she’d already said the magic words -- it’s not like she was going to reject him.  What could he possibly have to lose?

But days had dragged into weeks and longer, and that particular discussion bubbled away over a low flame, evaporating into nothingness as it simmered. And her insecurity picked and pulled, unraveling her from the inside out, until only one explanation came to mind -- if Fitz wasn’t talking to her about their relationship, it was because he didn’t want things to change. He didn’t want _them_ to change.

Simmons exhaled as this realization settled firmly into a cage around her heart.  Sadness could wait; the team wouldn’t.  She quickly packaged the solution she’d synthesized, smoothed her hair in the lab door’s reflection, and started upstairs.   _Oh, Fitz_.   _Silly Fitz_.  It was too late to wish nothing had changed.  But maybe, for now, being friends was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, boo me. Booo! Queen of slime. Filth. Pew-trescence. (I get it, OK?)
> 
> Look, I promise I want their happy ending as much as you. But I also want to keep this in compliance with what happens on the show.  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

When Simmons stepped into the lounge, there wasn't all that much to see. Coulson, Ward, and Fitz were standing around the bar, speaking softly. Spotting her, Coulson waved Simmons over and put on his business face. It was time to receive their assignments.

"Okay, listen up." Coulson was brisk as he relayed the instructions. "From what we know about Skye's past, she's never had a real birthday, much less a party. And we're her family now. We take care of our own." He looked at each of them in turn and nodded. "Ward, I need you at the bar tonight. No one goes thirsty on my plane."

"Understood, sir. I've got two chilled bottles of Skye's favorite," he reported, gracefully reaching under the counter and pulling out a box labeled  _Tito's Handmade Vodka – Austin_ , _Texas_ , "and wine and beer on ice."

"Fitz – were you able to generate a playlist?"

"No problem at all, thanks to Simmons' help in distracting Skye." Fitz hefted his tablet as Simmons' head bowed under the unexpected praise. "I patched all of her favorited Pandora selections into a hidden folder that should stream directly to the speaker system once I activate thi-"

Simmons interrupted excitedly, "-and I set the parameters to play only songs whose tempo matches a BPM of 130 or above." Fitz grimaced with the knowledge of what she would say next. "To encourage dancing!" Simmons face exploded into her trademark smile.

Coulson was impassive.

"You know... for fun!" she trailed off, waving happy fists, her face the perfect comedy mask to Fitz's tragedy.

"I don't dance. It wrinkles the suit. What about decorations?"

"Ah, yes." Fitz's back straightened at the opportunity to show off one of his inventions. "We've repurposed an early DWARF prototype into a self-guided, full-service party ambiance robot. At my command, Bruce here will project a holographic Happy Birthday message in midair, complete with virtual confetti and photos of Skye and the team. And he's got disco balls- erm, well, just one ball- no- I don't mean balls like-"

"Stop saying 'balls', Fitz," Simmons hushed softly, her cheeks tingeing pink.  His mouth snapped shut as the toes of his Converse suddenly became mesmerizing.

"Impressive work." Coulson paused, then asked near-regretfully, "Bruce?"

Fitz looked up with barely-concealed glee. "Bruce Banner, sir. Get it? Because-"

Simmons eyes rolled like a tumbleweed. "I told you we should name it Happy Junior, it's a birthday bot for goodness' sake-"

"That's preposterous, Simmons, it was Dopey's predecessor, not Happy's, so why would we-"

Coulson made a T with his hands. "Not the time. Now talk to me about pyrotechnics. And, Fitzsimmons – I'm only going to ask you once, so let me be clear: are you certain these on-board fireworks are safe? Or are we looking at a repeat of São Paulo?"

Simmons and Fitz flushed practically fuchsia as they stammered out reassurances, her high-pitched giggle mingling with his unintentional boasts.

"Oh yes, sir, completely safe, no combustion required at all-

"My design is flawless-"

"We actually took the idea from our holotable technology, isn't it remarkable how-"

"It's nothing more than a manipulation of light spectra and inert gas-"

"It'll be positively magical-"

"I'm no Gandalf the Grey, but I think I can put on a show-"

Coulson's voice cut in. "Enough. I trust you. Now everyone find your place. We all need to hide before May brings Skye back in here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired right at the moment, so I'm sorry for mistakes, oh, and cringe/sorry about the "science". I'm not very comfortable writing any of these characters yet, much less anyone who's not Fitzsimmons. And plus I'm a little nervous that this whole "birthday party" subplot is going to get away from me and change the focus of the story. But, as of right now I do have an idea where to take it to get back to the note, so bear with me. And please be patient as I probably won't get a chance to update until next week. Thanks! I hope you liked it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team dances at Skye's party. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

The party was in full swing.  When everyone had jumped out, Skye had been startled, and a little confused.  ‘ _What…?’_  She’d seemed touched, though, when the birthday banner flickered into existence, showering the room with scattered flecks of light like a crystal wind chime in the sun.  ‘ _You guys!  Awww…!  It’s not even my birthday!  What’s going on?’_

Coulson hadn’t wanted to tell her that it was May’s investigation of her past, and the heartbreaking account of Skye’s childhood it had uncovered, that had prompted him to organize the event.  ‘ _It’s not?  Well, consider this your official welcome to the team, then.  Good to have you on board.’_  The last hour had been spent drinking and chatting, and all of them were starting to relax.  It was nice to take a break sometimes from catching superpowered bad guys and cleaning up space garbage.

Fitzsimmons’ audio setup was perfect, of course, and the music currently pumping into the room was just catchy enough that, even in the midst of conversation, nearly everyone seemed infected by the dancing bug.  Ward and Coulson had moved a few chairs earlier to create a small clearing, and Skye had managed to get most of the team out on the floor with her.

Eyebrow arching, May had allowed Ward to draw her into a formal ballroom hold before leading her in a rather poker-faced cha-cha.  Skye was moving rhythmically to every song, like something straight out of a Chinese pop music video.  Simmons bounced enthusiastically, a bit ungainly, but the joy on her face counteracted any criticism of her dance ability.  Even Coulson, standing back from the rest, had crooked his arms as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  The only person standing normally was Fitz, who munched mouthfuls of kettle corn, angling his body away from Simmons as if he thought she was going to take away his snacks and make him eat a carrot.

Skye laughed at Coulson, “Come on, boss, let’s see you twerk!” and made to grab his arm.  “You too, Simmons!”

Coulson chuckled, “Sorry, Skye, me twerking is at least level 7.”

Simmons good-naturedly went to stand next to Skye.  “Twerking?  What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s totally fun.  Fitz,” she called, “watch!  You’re not gonna want to miss this.”

Fitz looked up guiltily, a stray kernel falling out of his mouth as smaller bits of sticky-sweet popcorn speckled his sweater.

“Oh, Fitz,” came Simmons’ disappointed-but-amused sigh.

“OK, so first you kind of… squat…”

Simmons shot Skye a look that clearly wondered whether she was being pranked.

“For real!  Here, I’ll show you.  But it works better if there’s a hot guy behind you.  Hey Inspector Gadget, get over her.”

“Nuh-uh.  No way; I don’t dance.”  Fitz crossed his arms and swung his head emphatically from left to right.

“It’s true, Fitz doesn’t dance.  Never has,” agreed Simmons.  “Even though, as I’ve told him countless times, dancing staves off dementia by augmenting cognitive reserves and increasing the complexity of neuronal synaps--”

“Oh, not this again--”  It was Fitz’s turn to roll his eyes.

Skye cut them off, staring at Fitz incredulously.  “Really?  Not even… like, Riverdance?”

“Riverdance?!”  his tone was aghast.  “Just where _exactly_ d’ you think I’m from?”

“Oh, quit being a baby and come learn something.”  Skye took a few steps forward, as if to drag him by the sleeve, but Fitz backed up into the narrow kitchen, hands up in a defensive pose.  Skye managed to not quite stamp her foot. “Don’t be such a spoilsport!”

Resolve carved into Fitz’s brow as he shook his head and prattled on in that familiar way.  “Pfffft...gangin' up on me… why is the world full of people who insist on making you dance?  Always _‘oh, you know you want to, Fitz’_ and _‘we’re waiting, Fitz’_ \-- well you can just wait the rest of your bloody lives!  I know my own mind; you can’t convince me I want to dance if I…” his rant muffled as he hunted through the refrigerator for mini cupcakes.

Skye’s curls gave a little shake as she re-set her mind to teaching Simmons about the greatest nightclub trend of a generation.  “Fine, whatever.  S.O.!  I need your help.  And you can’t say no because it’s my party.”

Curious but wary, Ward wandered over.  “What do you need, Skye?”

“Just stand there.”  Skye began bending her knees, hands moving up into her hair and down her torso, gyrating her hips and thrusting in time to the music.  Ward stared at her for a moment, grinding away in front of him.  His face a careful mask, he promptly marched back to the bar to join Fitz, whose jaw was threatening to fall off his face.  Skye dissolved into giggles at their expressions.  “See?  It’s easy.”

“That _could_ be a very useful distraction tactic when you’re out in the field,”  Simmons conceded, smiling but unsure whether she wanted to attempt the move.  “Perhaps May should learn!”

May’s face was granite.  “I don’t take my enemies down by booty popping.”  A second later her eyes twinkled, “Not anymore.”  With that, May headed back to the cockpit, leaving a string of gaping mouths behind her.

“She was joking… right?  Guys?”  Skye’s eyes darted to her team members and landed on Coulson, who looked to be smirking at a private joke.  “AC?”

He shook his head, laugh lines lighting up his face, and mimed locking up his mouth.  Skye gave him her best pleading pout.  “You can’t leave me hanging!  And don’t you dare say it’s classified!”

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Coulson’s wrist turned as he checked his watch.  “Good night, everyone.  Don’t stay up too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so once again there’s nothing in here about the note (you can tell I don’t know anything about pacing because I really thought this party scene was going to take less time to “get to the point” than it has) but never fear, Coulson and May have left, and stuff’s about to get REAL!  And I really wanted to write the dancing scene, so I did.  
> I stole the gist of Fitz’s anti-dancing rant from the incredibly talented comedian David Mitchell.  Hope you liked this chapter!  Please leave a comment if you think I need to amp up the drama and stop messing around with side plots.  And I don’t have any practice with humor writing so if you thought something was good, or something fell flat, please let me know!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude before the next scene. Simmons POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

As Simmons watched Coulson take his leave, she was suddenly aware of just how much she’d come to think of their little team as a home away from home.  Where she’d initially been starstruck by the idea of working with Coulson ( _the_ Agent Coulson who had such a history with the Avengers!) she was beginning to appreciate the many sides of his personality -- decisive, loyal, avuncular and sincere -- and now thought of him as a mentor as well as a leader.

Ward and Fitz were sipping scotch at the bar, and Simmons took a minute to regard the specialist who had saved her life months ago, and the engineer who saved it every day.  The customary ache of wistfulness tightened the top of her diaphragm as she felt, then heard, Fitz’s lighthearted voice, his accent like a bubbling stream over highland rocks.  It took a moment to realize he was making quick mock of Ward for never winning at board games.   _Imagine_ , marveled Simmons, _Fitz feeling comfortable enough to joke with a man like Ward._  He’d come so far from the scared teen she’d met at the Academy all those years ago, and it was clear now that Simmons wasn’t the only one who’d grown attached to their motley sextet.

Her attention turned to Skye, who was looking excitedly through her presents from the beginning of the party. Fitzsimmons had presented her with one of their prototypes, which they were calling Shower-in-a-Can: a specially formulated enzymatic bio-spray that would first bind to any sebum and bacteria on skin and hair, then create an ionic repulsion field to shed the grime off a person in seconds. ' _So you're saying I need a shower? Umm… thanks?'_  Skye had chortled as Fitz had stuttered, protesting, til Simmons came to his aid in defense of the practical gift, '  _Essentially, we're saying you'll never need to shower again! Isn't it wonderful? Think of the time you'll save! Although clearly you will still need to shower, since you only have about ten applications there.'_   Skye'd thanked them then, claiming it would be great for cleaning wounds in the field, and had declared with wide eyes, ' _The future is now! What a time to be alive...'_

Simmons didn’t know how this team had managed to ingratiate itself so fully into her heart, but she woke to the realization that she couldn’t envision a life outside the Bus anymore.  Fitz had always been her touchstone in alien landscapes, but now, she realized, they were growing as individuals; still connected, synergistic, but no longer dependent on each other as they’d been in school.  They’d each made friends and formed bonds outside of the other, knowing that at the end of the day, their souls resided in a white tile lab with steel countertops, in varicolored test tubes resting in the rack, in the high-pitched press of a metal sander around a rivet head.

Simmons sighed contentedly, strolled around the coffee table to where Skye sat playing with her new toys, and asked the energetic hacker what she’d like to do next.  In response, Skye stood up, eyes glinting with mischief, and grabbed an empty wine bottle from behind the bar.  She clapped her hands for attention and commanded,

“OK, guys, everyone sit on the floor in a circle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was really supposed to be the ending to the last chapter, but I got post-happy and wasn't sure if I'd finish tonight. Anyway, it'd been a while since I'd gotten into Simmons' head.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After "Mom" and "Dad" leave the party, things get interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Spin the bottle?” Ward asked flatly.  “I don’t know about this, rookie.”

Fitz glanced nervously at Simmons, a deer in headlights.  Simmons gulped at the amphibian crawling up her throat and, attempting to look casual, took her place on the floor.  Her hands seemed to have missed the memo about staying cool, however, and fretted with the end of one reddish-brown lock.

 “Relax, Robocop,” insisted Skye, “it’s not the typical game.   _This_ is Spin the Bottle of Secrets.  Wherever it lands, you have to tell that person a secret.  If you can’t, or if your secret sucks, then you have to do a dare -- so no ‘big reveals’ about what you had for breakfast yesterday.”

“Well, _that’s_ hardly fair -- Simmons and I don’t keep secrets.”  Bless Fitz’s heart.

“Everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps secrets,” Ward stated matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, and it bugs the crap outta me, so this is what we’re playing.”

 They arranged themselves as dictated, eyeing each other like racehorses before a derby.

Skye took the bottle in her hand, placed it between them, and spun.  Ward.  She chewed her lip, clearly debating whether or not to invoke the original Spin the Bottle rules, and finally said,  “OK, this isn’t like, something I’ve _never_ told anyone, but it’s pretty embarrassing.”

The three agents leaned forward as one.   _Brash, unencumbered Skye?_ Simmons wondered, _What on Earth would she be embarrassed about?_

“When I was little, one of the nuns taught us the quote? ‘Knowledge is power -- Francis Bacon’.  But I heard it like, France _is_ bacon.”  Skye palmed her face, hiding behind loose fingers as the first indices of mirth began to play across her friends’ faces.  “Okay, shut up, I was a kid.  So for, like, ever, I kept wondering _why_ anyone would say that, and any time someone would go, ‘Knowledge is power’ I’d finish the quote,” Skye’s face scrunched, “France is... bacon?”

Ward's stoic mask was cracking now, Fitz close behind.

“...but instead of reacting like I’d said something _insane_ , they’d nod, like I was freaking profound or whatever!  And I just went with it!  I was _ten_ before I saw it in print!”

Simmons attempted to smother the unladylike snicker in her throat.  “But, Skye,” she managed around giggles, “ …isn’t _Knowledge is Power_ the Rising Tide’s motto?”

“YES!!   _Right?!_  You can’t make this stuff up!”

Simmons gave Skye a sympathetic shoulder pat while Ward smirked and Fitz cackled.  Half a minute later, Ward grabbed the bottle and twisted it in one fluid motion.  Fitz.  The specialist’s face gave nothing away as his robot brain searched its databases.

“Hmm.  I know you’ve already seen the footage of me spilling the beans in that Level 1 overshare Skye’s first day, ” he murmured.  “I’ve got other secrets, but…  if I told you…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’d have to kill me…”  Fitz straightened his chest, hands on hips, and squinted his eyes in a passable Clint Eastwood impression (despite what he may have intended). “I’m Agent Grant Ward, and I can take down twenty men with nothing but a shoehorn and a jar of Nutella…”

Ward crossed his arms, unimpressed.  “Twenty?  Try fifty.  And I’d still have enough left over for crepes.”

Chuckling, Simmons again wondered at their easy rapport, a tidal wave of pride washing over her as she recalled the wallflower Fitz had once been.

Skye snorted.  “Alright, well since you won’t cough up a secret, that means I get to think of a dare for you.  Not gonna lie,” she teased, “I’m feeling a lil’ vibe between you guys… maybe we _should_ revert to the kissing version of this game…”

Simmons’ eyes went big as pie plates; Fitz backed up like the floor was covered in spiders.  Skye nearly fell apart guffawing.  “Oh, my god… Fitz, your face…”

She composed herself quickly enough, however -- “Got it!” -- and promptly typed something on her laptop.  “Call someone who outranks you at S.H.I.E.L.D. and give them this message,” she indicated, turning the screen.

Ward slumped heavily.  “Skye, I can’t just--”

“Rules are rules, S.O.  Aren’t you always telling me that?”

A frustrated grunt signaled Ward’s surrender.  “Fine, but I’m using his secure line.”  He tapped at his phone.

“Ah- ah- ah…” she cautioned, “put it on speaker!”

The ring tone droned its staccato note.  ‘ _If you’ve got this number, you know who I am.  And seeing as I’m not picking up, you better have a damn good reason for calling.’_  Beeeeeep.

“Ahhh… yes, sir, this is Grant Ward, and I just had some information… uhh, I needed to give you a message, that, uhh…”  He was clearly trying to wait out the voicemail, and Skye wasn’t falling for it.

“Stick to the script!” she whispered fiercely.

“Arrgh.  I wanted to remind you, sir, that I’m a pretty, pretty princess.”

“And?”  Skye’s grin bordered on manic.

“... and Skye is more of a badass than me.”  Click.

Skye shrieked in unadulterated glee.  “I can _not_ believe you just did that!  Awesome!”  She bounced, clasping her hands together, and glanced at the flabbergasted scientists.

“Your turn, Fitz!”

If there was one thing Fitz knew, it was that there was _no ruddy chance_ he was risking one of Skye’s dares now.  The bottle spun.  Simmons.

“Uff.  I’m not sure I-- like I said earlier-- we know everythin’ about each other…” Fitz had just set off on one of his idiosyncratic fusses when a light bulb popped over his head.  “Oh!  Wait, I do have something!”

Simmons paused in surprise.  Besides the mushy-gushy stuff they never talked about, there really wasn’t much she didn’t know about her best friend.   _Well.  This should be interesting_.

“Okay, so before you decide to rule me out, Skye, this might not seem like a big deal to you, but Simmons and I never lie to each other.  Only,” Fitz cast stormy-sea eyes on his partner, “d’ you remember that sandwich you made me for the mission to Ossetia?”

Simmons froze.  At the same time, Ward groaned, “You’re still mad about that?”

 _What is happening? What is he doing, bringing this up in front of everyone?  And what’s Ward talki--  oh god oh god oh god-- did_ Ward _see the note?_  Simmons’ brain was in overdrive.  Alarm coursed through every nerve, but she forced herself to keep her face in check, camouflaging the ice in her blood by focusing on a frayed spot in her jeans just above the knee.

Fitz had shifted his attention away from Simmons in order to glare at Ward.  “Well if _you_ hadn’t been so keen on taking down the world’s most dangerous sandwich, we could’ve both enjoyed a nice bite.  Or don’t you remember I offered to share!   _My_ favorite sandwich, sitting at the bottom of a puddle, all because Mr. Shock-and-Awe here had to feel big.”

“There were dogs tracking us!” hissed Ward, “And you thought it was a good idea to break open that ham monstrosity.  I saved our lives!”

Fitz notched up the snarkiness.  “Well of _course_ you did, Ward, that’s what you _do_!  It’s what you get off on, isn--”

“Simmons, you okay?” Skye’s voice sliced through the men’s heated back-and-forth.

“Ye-- yes, I just… I think perhaps the wine’s gone to my head.  I’ll just pop off to the loo…” She rose unsteadily and Fitz jumped to help, catching her elbow in his steady grip.

“Jemma?  You sure you’re alright?” he ventured quietly.  “I’m sorry I lied…”

“No, Fitz, it’s not that-- goodness, it was ages ago…”  she dissembled vaguely.   _What do I say?_ She was a crimson-cheeked mess, her heart jackhammering into her stomach.   _He never saw it.  Should I tell him?_   _How?_  “I’m just upset because… it didn’t even occur to me I might’ve been putting you two in danger.  I never considered there could be dogs!  And-- oh, Fitz-- what if it had been bears?”

The anguish in Simmons’ face was real as she lifted her butterscotch eyes to his -- in truth, she hadn’t worried about the consequences of a pungently prepared sandwich in the middle of a covert op.

“Well, I wasn’t thinking either” shrugged Fitz, consoling.  One eyebrow quirked to match his wry smile.  “Some geniuses we are, eh?”

“Yeah…” laughed Simmons softly, breathing in his proximity and clasping his arm a little longer than was necessary for balance.  “I guess we can both be idiots sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. This is effectively the end for this story, though I do have one more little chapter I might include, and you can check out my other story, Interlopers, which is set a few weeks after this.  
> No kisses this time, which, yes, was a bit misleading for a Spin the Bottle scene. Sorry!  
> Also, I shamelessly stole the “France is bacon” story from reddit. I found it funny, and figured the quote was relevant to Skye.  
> Crossing my fingers for the finale tonight!  
> Thanks for reading :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons ponders the discoveries made during the party, and has a difficult choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Simmons sat on her bed that night, running through scenarios in her head.  Fitz didn’t know about the note.  This. Changed. Everything.  At the time that bomb had dropped, her shock had doused her like she was joining the Polar Bear Club.  Now, after a chance to breathe, Simmons was mentally re-examining the last months with fresh perspective, trying to remember every moment, to analyze every look and touch.

  
Her rational mind knew that when an idea is planted, even if it turns out to be untrue, some psychological impact remains.  It was just one more way the human brain fostered chaos and misunderstanding.  Someone could be angry after a dream, despite having no basis for that anger.  An innocent person accused of a crime might find it harder to clear the damage to their reputation than the charges on their record.  A mother with a rabid anti-vaccination stance held even more tightly to her convictions after seeing scientific evidence to the contrary.  Knowing all that, Simmons was trying her best to objective, to ignore the small, certain weight in her lungs that Fitz didn’t want her.

  
She hated how fickle memory was, hated the unreliability of human emotion.  Simmons depended on her intellect every day, yes, but this wasn’t a time to trust her fair-weather brain.  She needed to see the numbers, to assess every variable of this situation and explore its parameters.  She needed to write everything out and follow the steps to their logical conclusion.

  
So like any measured thinker faced with a difficult decision, Simmons made a list of pros and cons.  A table of facts, rows and columns of incontrovertible proof, pointing her towards the right answer.  The data would tell her what to do, and she hoped her heart would cooperate.

  
She stared at the piece of paper in her hand.  A brave, infatuated Jemma (who sounded suspiciously like Skye) shouted noiselessly to tell Fitz everything _immediately_ , go to his bunk while he was still tipsy from the party and make things happen.  A more composed, reasonable version argued that she needed to consider all sides.

  
“Tell him how you feel!” demanded Brave Jemma.  “It’ll be great.  You two will be unstoppable together.”

“They’re already unstoppable together,” countered Reasonable Jemma.

“But they don’t kiss.”

“No, but they hang out and watch movies and change the face of science.  It’s fun.”

“Not as fun as kissing, I’ll wager.”

 

“But what if Fitz doesn’t want to kiss her?  He’s never made a move.  What if he rejects her?”

“Oh, please.  He’s interested.  Have you seen how jealous he gets?”

“Jealousy’s not an attractive quality.”

“Everything’s attractive on Fitz.”

 

“Even if he wants to kiss her, what happens if they start dating?  S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols forbid same-team relationships.  How are they going to save the world and usher in a new age of tech innovation if they’ve been reassigned to separate labs?”

“They can be discreet.  Neither of them’s big on PDA anyway.  Plus, secret sex!  It’ll be fun!”

“Are you daft?  You know what a catastrophe it is when Simmons tries to lie.  We almost got court marshalled last time!”

“Well… maybe they wouldn’t have to lie.  Coulson’s a nice guy.  Maybe he’d let it slide.”

“Coulson’s a company man.  He believes in the protocols.  And by the way, Simmons does too."  

“No!  No more following the rules!  Bad girl shenanigans!”

“Calm down.”

 

“I have two words for you: science babies. Can’t you just picture it?  In Montessori, writing little crayon dissertations and testing playground soil samples? All Simmons has to do is TELL HIM and then they can get married!”

“Sure, if they don’t break up first.  Which would be awkward.  And put a damper on the work.”

“Oh, who’s breaking up?!  You’re mental.”

“Stranger things happen.  And 50% of marriages end in divorce.”

“You know as well as I do that number’s inflated.  And those 50% aren’t FitzSimmons.”

“True…  but just think about that.  That name.  That partnership.  FitzSimmons.”

“Exactly!  They belong together.”

“It’s the most important thing, keeping FitzSimmons together.”

 

 _Enough_.  Simmons shook herself, trying to jostle her cloudy judgment into place.  She wondered if she was physically capable of compartmentalizing her feelings, of ignoring them to maintain the status quo.  She wondered if she was willing to jeopardize everything she had for the sake of a few kisses and a fairy-tale ending.  She wondered if she was brave or eloquent enough to tell Fitz how she felt without sounding like a complete clot.  And finally, she wondered if it was all a moot point because Fitz didn’t even think of her like that.

  
A decision gripped fast in her prefrontal cortex, Simmons tiptoed to Fitz’s door and rapped once, then twice.  In less than a minute, a tousle-headed Fitz opened up, blinking at the bright light of the hall.

  
“Sorry, did I wake you?” she asked just in case, though she could see the blue of his laptop glowing in the darkened room.

“Nah, I was just catching up on the latest in solar cell efficiency.  I think-- well, I’m most likely dead on -- if I add graphene nanoflakes to polymer-blend BHJ solar cells, it should make them more flexible _and_ last longer.”

“Oh, well done, Fitz!”

He shrugged.  “I’ll play around with it in the lab tomorrow.  What brings you by?”

“Ah… I couldn’t sleep, and it just occurred to me… we finished Skye’s game so quickly…I didn’t get a chance...”

Fitz was looking at her expectantly, encouraging.

 

“Well, I never told you _my_ secret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this last “little bit” ended up longer than I thought.  Ain’t that just the way of it?  It was the most hopeful ending I could think of without breaking canon (although after that finale I’m probably going to go write a bunch of AU scenes where they totally make out).    
> So, you can imagine what you like after Simmons goes into his room. I also considered ending it with the possibility of Fitz finding the pros and cons list. :-)
> 
> Thanks for all your follows and reviews and supportive words.  Fanfiction is fun, y’all!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever. I had this idea, "What if Fitz lying to Simmons about the sandwich was a much bigger deal than he realized?" I am not a writer (unless you count a college poetry class years ago) nor am I a scientist. Because I feel silly trying to fake the science stuff, I'll probably try to avoid techno-babble. This has not been beta'd, though I proofread it several times. Please let me know what you think! Thanks in advance.


End file.
